The Dragons of Rhuddlan
by Fflur Cadwgawn
Summary: An accident with the Stargate sends Sam and Daniel to Wales and the year 1282 AD. In the same freak accident, Mitchell is transported to an early version of the SGC. Only Vala and Teal'c come out to the same SGC they left. What's happened? Furthermore, how many people will die so they might live...and get home? Post Season 9.
1. Chapter 1: Buru Glaw

The Dragons of Rhuddlan

An accident with the Stargate sends Sam and Daniel to Wales and the year 1282 AD. In the same freak accident, Mitchell is transported to an early version of the SGC. Only Vala and Teal'c come out to the same SGC they left. What's happened, and how can SG1 be reunited?

A/N: I speak Welsh, but poorly (yay for the Big Welsh Challenge!). I don't own anything except my Welsh blood. The historical characters are as accurate as I can portray them. If you want a good idea of what happened in 1282 Wales, the Wikipedia articles on Edward I and Llywelyn ap Gruffydd are good places to start. At any rate, this is something I've been working on for a very, very long time, ever since I wrote my bachelor's thesis on Welsh nationalists. I'm having loads of fun playing around with the Grandfather Paradox and history with this one!

Chapter 1

Buru Glaw

Daniel Jackson slowly swam toward light, sensations returning one by one. He was strapped securely to something—perhaps a travois, from the feel of it—and it was bouncing over rough ground. His side hurt with every jostle.

He forced his eyes open. His eyelids felt crusty, and searing pain pounded through his head. The world swam into focus.

Someone moved to his left, calling out something that sounded like Rhodri. That was a Welsh name, Daniel remembered. His college roommate's girlfriend had been Welsh, and her brother's name was Rhodri. Was that the same Rhodri?

The jostling stopped. Daniel felt the top of the travois being unhooked, and he was lowered to the ground. Above him, a horse's tail swished as it was led to one side.

A young woman's pale face appeared, and she asked him something in a musical language he barely understood—a language akin to Welsh. He tried to remember how to speak the words—speaking a language and reading a language are completely different from each other. He knew that the woman's language was still being spoken in the modern world, but would it be the same syntax and grammar in this place? He finally gave up and asked, simply, "Where am I?" through dry lips with a tongue that felt like leather, falling back on English. He glanced over the woman's costume as best he could, and surmised that he was in a place where the inhabitants were living a life similar to that of central England in the medieval period.

"You are badly hurt," the woman said, in English, but haltingly. The English, Daniel realized, was different from even the British English spoken in his time. Where was he? _When _was he? Her voice indeed had the musical quality Daniel always associated with the Welsh, thickly rolled about the tongue.

"Annwsta!" another voice broke in. The speaker was male, but probably not much older than Annwsta. He spoke in Welsh, and only with effort could Daniel understand him. "Have a care with him! We must continue."

The travois was fastened back to the horse's harness, and Annwsta kept up a steady stream of chatter. If she could speak English, Daniel thought, they must be close to the Marches, the area that in medieval times had been considered the border between Wales and England. It might even have been the Perfeddwlad. Annwsta informed Daniel that they were taking him to Rhodri's brother, where a doctor could be summoned from the abbey. She laughed in poorly concealed astonishment when Daniel asked who Rhodir's brother was.

"He is Llywelyn, of course!" Annwsta said. "Rhodri himself is grandson to Llywelyn ap Iorwerth!"

* * *

"Llywelyn!" a woman's voice said urgently.

Colonel Samantha Carter squinted in the light of the fire, the wood smoke stinging her eyes.

The woman's voice chattered in what Sam thought was French as a middle-aged man moved into Sam's field of vision. He spoke in the woman's language, then in a lyrical language Sam didn't recognize.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her throat stung with thirst. "I don't understand."

And miraculously, the man answered her. "Who are you?" he asked in blessed English.

"My name," she started, but she broke off into a fit of coughing. When the coughing subsided, she lay back for a moment, to catch her wind, then tried again. "My name is Samantha Carter."

"You are not Welsh," the man said, his eyes narrowing. "Be you one of Edward's women?"

She looked at him blankly. "Who's Edward?"

"Edward Longshanks, of course," he replied curtly. "The English king. Yet you do not speak as the English."

"I'm not Welsh, and I'm not English, either," she said. "I'm American." She remembered a mission, not so very long ago, when they had been on a Celtic-influenced planet. What was it that Daniel had called Earth, then? The man at her side was looking quizzically at her. Finally, she remembered. "I'm from the Land Between the Sunsets. What the Irish call Tir-Na-Nog."

Comprehension dawned in the man's face. "Then you are one of Prince Madoc's people!"

"No!" she bit out harshly, and winced when the exclamation sent nausea sweeping through her and bile surging up her throat. She swallowed the bitter sting down. "I'm not one of this Madoc's people." For all she knew, he could be a Goa'uld, and this man was implying she served him! "My commander is Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell. We're in the United States Air Force. I'm also a colonel in that Air Force."

The man was looking quizzically at her again. "I've not heard of such a rank amongst Edward's troops," he admitted. He stood, and offered her his hand. "I am Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, Prince of Gwynedd," he told her.

* * *

Panic swept Cameron Mitchell faster than normal through the Stargate's wormhole, hoping beyond hope the Jaffa loyal to the Ori on PXS-282 weren't following him. Adrenalin still coursing through him, he stumbled upon reaching the familiarity of the SGC gate room, somehow landing visciously on one knee. He hauled himself up, ignoring the twinge of protest from his battered knee, to face Teal'c's staff weapon and a platoon of Marines pointing assault rifles at him.

"Who are you?" Teal'c demanded. "Where are Captain Carter and Doctor Jackson? What has happened to Colonel O'Neil?"

"Oh, crap," Mitchell muttered. His day had gone from bad to worse.

* * *

Mitchell gritted his teeth and gripped the edge of the infirmary bed as the petit doctor wrapped his sore knee with a bandage. From what he'd been able to gather, this was an early version of the SGC, before he and Vala had joined the team and when Dr. Janet Fraiser was still alive.

"I want you to keep weight off your knee for a couple of days," Dr. Fraiser said while she plastered the sticky bandage in place. "Come in on Friday and we'll see how it's healing. Right now it's just a mild sprain, but if you move around too much you'll be looking at spending the rest of the summer, and not just this week, on crutches."

General George Hammond stood to one side, watching with his arms folded. As Mitchell struggled to his feet, leaning awkwardly on the crutches Fraiser had brought out and adjusted for him, Hammond finally spoke. "Do you feel up to a briefing, Colonel?"

"As long as we figure out where the hell Carter and Daniel are, and why the hell I'm here and not with them, count me in," Mitchell agreed, taking a few experimental steps with the crutches. He was glad he'd only have to use the things till Friday, at the rate they pinched and rubbed the tender skin of his arms.

* * *

The crutches were still awkward, Mitchell, noted wryly, even after being forced to use them for weeks after that battle in Antarctica. He crutched behind Hammond up to the briefing room, seating himself as soon as possible at the long table and propping the crutches up beside him.

"What happened out there?" Hammond asked as soon as Teal'c sat down across from Mitchell, propping his staff weapon within easy reach. _Subtle_, Mithell thought. _He still doesn't trust me_.

"We were ambushed by Jaffa," Mitchell said. "We were on a planet labeled PXS-282 trying to find out how to get rid of the Ori, only the Ori have—oh, I dunno, three or four platoons of Jaffa under them there. The MALP didn't show any signs of life near the 'gate, but they were there waiting for us. They let us get far enough from the Stargate to pin us down where we couldn't escape. Daniel was hit with one of their staff weapons—he took a pretty close-range blast in his side, and another one grazed his head. Carter covered him while Teal'c, Vala, and I cleared a path toward the DHD. We held the Jaffa back while Carter got Daniel over to us. Teal'c and Vala got through the Stargate…"

* * *

"_Come on, Colonel, move!" Mitchell shouted as Carter dragged Daniel back to the DHD. "Teal'c and Vala are already through!"_

"_I'm trying!" she protested, breathless._

"_Go on!" Daniel said, wincing and breathing heavily. How he was still conscious, Mitchell didn't know. The archaeologist groaned. "I'm only slowing you down."_

_Mitchell growled, "I am _not_ leaving anybody on my team in hostile territory!" He aimed his P90 where the weapons fire seemed heaviest and gave the trigger a few pulls, then dropped and scooted over to help Carter. Somehow, together they managed to help Daniel stand. "We cover each other," Mitchell ordered. Carter nodded…._

* * *

"I thought they were right behind me," Mitchell said, starting into the glass of water on the table in front of him. "Carter was coming up the steps when she shouted that the Jaffa were coming at us from behind. I heard her fire a couple of rounds. The minute she and Daniel made it to the top of the steps, I thought they could get through okay. I should have come last."

"The Stargate must have been hit with weapons fire," Teal'c said. "It may have caused the wormhole to jump to another Stargate between here and PXS-282."

"How could something that weak cause me to come through to a different reality—time—well, different SGC?" Mitchell asked. "Somehow, I don't think it will be that simple."

* * *

Daniel was trying to think through each jolt of pain that every bounce of the travois sent through his side. Annwsta had said that Rhodri was a grandson of Llywelyn ap Iorwerth. At least, he thought wryly through another flash of pain that left him sweaty and gasping for breath, he was still on Earth. _When_, though, was an entirely different matter, because this Llywelyn ap Iorwerth had married King John's illegitimate daughter, Joan, in 1205 A.D. Gruffydd ap Llywelyn was Llywelyn ap Iorwerth's son (ap meaning "son of"). And Annwsta had said that Rhodri was a grandson of Llywelyn ap Iorwerth through Gruffydd, making Rhodri's full name _Rhodri ap Gruffydd_. Daniel knew that Gruffydd ap Llywelyn had had at least two other sons, Llywelyn and Dafydd. So all of that meant he had come out of the Stargate into a Wales that was under the rule of Llywelyn ap Gruffydd—in other words, sometime between 1260 and 1282 A.D, give or take a few decades.

But that didn't mean Sam, Mitchell, Teal'c, or Vala were there.

And it didn't mean he'd easily find a way to get home.


	2. Chapter 2: Cenedl: Kindred

The Dragons of Rhuddlan

Chapter 2

Cenedl: Kindred

* * *

A/N: I'm falling back on my herbalist background for this story, for obvious reasons. Don't try it at home!

For the purposes of this story: Nard = lavender.

I don't own anything.

* * *

Voices woke Sam. She was now in a private chamber somewhere in a large stone building, and there were people approaching from the hall. From the sounds of things, they were carrying something heavy. She tried to sit up, but nausea swept over her once again. What hadn't registered before while talking with Hugh or whoever the Griffith man was called now rang loud and clear in her mind. Great, she thought, a concussion on top of everything else.

The same woman who had watched over her earlier came in behind two men-probably servants, Sam realized—who were carrying a pallet and bedding. At the woman's direction, they set the pallet near Sam and the fire, and spread the blankets on it. Shortly afterwards two more men came in, carrying somebody in green combat fatigues from Sam's own time. She would have recognized that head of brown hair anywhere, even if it was caked with blood. They set him on the pallet and left.

"Daniel?" she exclaimed, trying to move so she could see him and not get sick again.

The woman, who Sam now saw was very pregnant, knelt down beside her. "Is he your friend?" she asked in broken English with a thick French accent.

"Yes. We were attacked." Sam paused, wondering how to explain Daniel's injuries. "Two of them burned Daniel with flaming sticks," she said finally. That was as much as she dared to give anyone in this world unless they knew about Goa'uld, the Ori, or the Jaffa.

The woman smiled; she reminded Sam a little of Janet Frasier. "Why don't you get some sleep while I see to your friend."

"Please—let me help."

"You," the woman said, "need to rest. You'll be of no use to me or to your friend if you do not sleep."

She was right, but Sam had always had a stubborn streak when it came to her teammates.

"Sam?" Daniel said tiredly. "Is that you?"

"Yes," she replied. "Do you know if Cam and Vala are here?"

"They didn't come through?"

"I woke up alone."

* * *

Mitchell shook his head again at Richard Woolsey's insistence that the weapons fire had caused the Stargate to malfunction. "No! Get this through your heads!" He flung the water glass across the room, not caring that it shattered against the bulletproof glass overlooking the embarkation room. He didn't care how odd that would look to some of the people down there. "That Stargate did _not_ malfunction because of weapons fire. Where I am from, the only time it ever malfunctioned with this time lag problem is when Carter was trying to dial out in the middle of a solar flare." Mitchell paused for breath, feeling like he'd just run fifty miles in full army kit. He wanted to get up and pace, but his knee was on fire now. As it was, Dr. Frasier was not going to be pleased with him in two days.

"I'm telling you," he said, "the Ori have something to do with this. It wouldn't be the first time we met up with them, and I wouldn't put it past them to pull a stunt like stranding me who knows when!"

"Colonel Mitchell!" Hammond barked. "I realize you are in a difficult situation. So are we. We want to find our own people as badly as you want to find yours. But for the time being, I am ordering you to stay calm."

Mitchell buried his face in his hand. He hadn't realized he'd been shouting. He pinched the bridge of his nose. This was the third briefing in as many days, and this time the IOA was involved. Even in this time and place Woolsey was still an idiot, and trying to explain time travel when he didn't even understand all the various ways E could equal MC squared was giving him a headache on top of the knee, and on top of the migraine Woolsey had already innocently given him the moment Mitchell had found out the IOA would be involved.

"Look," he said finally, trying his best to speak with a steady voice, "the Ori have these weird voodoo powers they use. We don't know enough about them yet; hell, we don't even know where their home galaxy is. The point is, I think the Ori on that planet sent me here. I think they separated SG1 on purpose." _How would Sam explain it?_ "If I'm here, and I'm not supposed to be, I could be causing some major problems in this timeline. If I'm here, and the rest of SG1 except for Teal'c aren't here, then that probably means that the Ori have figured out a way to…..I dunno, warp the fabric of time itself."

"The Grandfather Paradox," Woolsey said quietly. "If you travel back in time and kill your own grandfather, what would become of you?"

"Thank you!" Mitchell exclaimed. "Finally, someone here understands!"

_Except the trouble is,_ Mitchell thought, watching Woolsey and Hammond exchange a look, _I've probably already caused problems here. And I don't think they are even beginning to understand._

* * *

"Daniel, do you know where we are?" Sam asked when the woman had left them briefly.

"North Wales, in Gwynedd," he said. "Annwsta—the girl who found me—says this is Tŵr Llywelyn—Llywelyn's Tower. It was built by Llywelyn ap Gruffydd." Sam could see him watching the woman come back into the room. "That makes you Elinor de Montefort, doesn't it?"

Sam stared. "The de Montefort name sounds familiar. Was it Simon de Montefort who led the French in the Albigensian Crusade?"

Elinor de Montefort nodded. "He was my grandfather. My father shares his name."

A serving woman brought in two bowls filled with liquid that she set down near Daniel before leaving. Sam wrinkled her nose; the liquid reeked of a musky, sweet scent. Elinor dipped a cloth in the liquid and began wiping the blood from Daniel's face.

He jerked away. "What is that stuff?"

"Daniel, give it a rest," Sam sighed.

"I've had men speak worse when they are this badly injured," Elinor said, shrugging. She dipped the cloth in the other bowl and wrung it, then dipped it in the first bowl again. "I'm washing his wounds with water boiled with nard. It will stop infection and inflammation, and should ease his pain," she told Sam. After working in silence for a few moments, she asked, "Llywelyn says you are both from Tir-Na-Nog."

"Yes," Daniel hissed through clenched teeth. Elinor was peeling back his combat fatigues so she could clean his side. The same serving woman returned with a pile of clean cloths, and knelt by Elinor. Elinor was using the nard to soften Daniel's jacket and shirt, which appeared stiff with dried blood.

Finally, Elinor finished cleaning and bandaging Daniel. "It's nearly Vespers," she said, standing with the aid of the serving woman. "I'll to check on you both afterward."

When the two women had left the room, Daniel immediately groaned. "I'll never complain about Dr. Lam's infirmary again," he muttered. "Sam, I didn't want to say anything when Elinor was here, but I think it's mid-May of 1282."

"What? You think the Jaffa staff weapons managed to get the Stargate to send us this far back? Even the solar flares managed to send us to only 1969, and staff weapons have a lot less power than solar flares." Once again nausea swept over Sam, and this time she had to reach for an empty bowl nearby.

"Are you all right?" Daniel asked.

"Probably a concussion," Sam said, grimacing once her stomach finished heaving. She pushed the bowl away. "I remember helping you through the Stargate, then waking up here. Do you think maybe the Ori on PXS-282 had something to do with us being here?"

"Sam, that's just it. There's _nothing_ in Welsh mythology that talks about _anything_ even remotely similar to a Stargate, except maybe Cerridwen's Cauldron!"

Sam felt like somebody had just punched her in the stomach—after being sick. "_What_?"

"_There's no Stargate here_."

"But there's got to be! How else would you explain how we got here, unless the Ori were involved?"

"I don't know," Daniel admitted. "There's more to this, too. That woman—Elinor. In June of 1282 she died during childbirth. June nineteenth, actually."

Sam closed her eyes. "What about her husband? Who is he?"

"His name is Llywelyn ap Gruffydd." Daniel said it the same way the original owner had. "There's a rebellion going on right now. But he didn't give it his full support until after Elinor died. Then, he fought the English and Edward Longshanks for only six more months before somebody accidentally killed him—or murdered him, depending on who you listen to—on the banks of the Irfon River on December 12, 1282. His head was paraded through London." He moved, trying to shift to a more comfortable position, and hissed again. "It's all in the history books. Or will be, anyway."

"And you think we may have played a part in that." Sam leaned back in defeat. _How in the universe were they supposed to get home now?_

Daniel shifted again, inhaling sharply. "I don't know," he said. "We might have to do it, Sam, so the history for our own time works out right."

"Do what?"

"Kill Llywelyn ap Gruffydd."


	3. Chapter 3: Wyntog

Chapter 3

Wyntog

A/N: NOT a songfic! Citing literature is perfectly legal as long as it's done properly. Besides, it's necessary to the story.

Translations are included in the text. I don't speak much Welsh, just enough to pronounce things and say basic stuff, so I relied on some external resources that had the Welsh quotes-the downfall of living in a country whose primary schooling doesn't include being properly bilingual.

* * *

"_The war of 1282-3 had its origins, not in Llywelyn's Principality, but in those parts of north-east Wales administered by the crown. It began with an attack upon Hawarden Castle on Palm Sunday (21 March) 1282. The revolt, led by Dafydd [ap Gruffydd], rapidly won widespread support; by 24 March it had spread to Ceredigion and by 26 March to Ystrad Tywi. Llywelyn was in a quandary for weeks, and it seems that he did not give the revolt his full support until late June. If his actions were to be consistent with his instincts and career, he would have hardly been able to avoid involvement, but the death of Elinor on the birth of their only child, Gwenllian, on 19 June 1282 was probably relevant to his state of mind when he finally made his decision._"

–John Davies, _A History of Wales_, (London: Penguin Books, 1993), 158.

* * *

Two days later, Samantha Carter was tired of lying in their tiny room, the wood smoke from the fireplace drifting toward her every time the wind howled across the chimney. By the second day, her stomach had settled to cramps and the headache she had originally woken up with was now a dull pain interspersed with dizziness. Maybe the nard tea Elinor was dosing her with was working. Maybe.

Daniel was sleeping most of the time, waking only when Elinor cleaned his wounds or left them both something she called oatcakes and colcannon. The oatcakes were bland, even with honey, and were reminiscent of very dry baked oatmeal. The colcannon was better, a hearty stew of leeks and bits of meat.

"What happens," Sam asked at one point after the serving woman brought them the meal tray, "if we can't go back home?"

Daniel bit into an oatcake. How could he stand the things plain! "I don't know," he admitted, shrugging. "I know a little about Welsh history … you're a soldier … maybe these people need advisors."

"Oh, no," she said quickly. "Remember the Grandfather Paradox? If we do something now that changes our own future, we might cease to exist, even in this time. No, I don't think we'd better do that."

"Yeah," Daniel said morosely, dipping the oatcake into his stew. "But, Sam, listen. What if we _did_ end up helping Llywelyn with his campaigns? I mean, the history books say that the revolt that ultimately got him killed started in March, but he didn't give it his support until late June. And this has to be late May, remember? What if we're the ones who convinced him to give this revolt his support? You've got to admit, the time frame sure fits."

Sam still shook her head. "No. I think he needs to make that decision on his own, without our help. But if he doesn't, _then_ we'll talk about it."

* * *

Vala Mal Doran dove through the Stargate after Teal'c, praying that the flickering of the wormhole wasn't going to cause problems. She hit the ramp hard in the embarkation room of the SGC just as the wormhole whined shut behind her. _No! Sam and Daniel and Cam are still out there!_

She jerked upright, staring wildly where the wormhole should have been. _Should have been … NO! Oh, Heavens above, what is going on?!_

"Vala?" General Hank Landry asked, rushing into the Gate Room and taking in her bleeding shoulder and Teal'c already being mopped up by Dr. Lam's team. "Where are the others?"

"They were," she said, still staring at the quiet Stargate and not caring as Dr. Lam hurried over and started to gently peel away her coat, "right behind me."

* * *

Landry met SG-4 in the embarkation room as the Stargate's wormhole dissipated behind Teal'c's staff weapon. "Any luck?" he asked hopefully.

Teal'c shook his head. "None."

"I'm sorry, General," the new SG-4 commander, Colonel Jesse Lawrents, said, removing his helmet to reveal the startling shock of red hair he was famous for. "The Tok'ra weren't aware that half of SG1 are MIA."

Vala came running into the Gate Room; she'd been helping the labs run computer diagnostics after Carolyn had seen to her shoulder. "Anything?" she asked breathlessly.

Again, Lawrents shook his head.

Landry wanted to throw something. "I wish I knew where our people were," he said quietly.

* * *

The wind blew sharply that night, first amplifying, then muting altogether, the snatches of Vespers drifting from a chapel nearby. Sam signed as she swallowed another mouthful of oatcake, listening to Daniel lecture her on the finer points of the Welsh language. "What's the Welsh for _it's windy_?" she asked suddenly, interrupting him.

"_Mae hi'n wyntog_," he said. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Just curious." A swell of prayer from the chapel was suddenly increased by the wind. It was in Latin—_veritas et lux. Truth and light_. A man's deep voice. The wind blew the rest of it away. Then the wind brought a snatch of a hymn she couldn't quite understand.

"What happens if we can't get home?" she whispered.

* * *

Vala sighed and sipped at her coffee, wincing as the moves pulled at the stitches in her shoulder even though her arm was in a sling. She wasn't really the studious type; she saved that part of this job for Sam and Daniel. Looting was about all the concentration she did on something, and right now she was beginning to understand the coffee habit Sam and Daniel had while working in the labs. Maybe she should start learning more about physics or Earth archaeology on the off chance this sort of thing happened again. Maybe.

"Nothing," Bill Lee huffed, leaning back in the chair and looking as frustrated as she felt.

"C'mon, Daniel," Vala whispered, glancing through the bulletproof glass of the briefing room at the Stargate. Its triangular indicators remained dark and silent. "Don't do this to us."

Teal'c asked, "Do you recall what happened when SG1 was transported to 1969?"

Vala shook her head.

Teal'c continued, "There might be a possibility that Colonel Carter, Daniel Jackson, and Colonel Mitchell have been sent back in time."

"And…..any ideas on where they ended up?" Vala asked hopefully.

But Teal'c shook his head. "I am afraid I cannot answer that."

Bill Lee snapped his fingers. "What about tracing a direct line to PXS-282 from the SGC? Then I can take what we learn from that back to the Tok'ra. We've got some pretty good scientists here, but the Tok'ra might be better at this. If we find anything suspicious, I can have the archaeology people cross-reference it with Earth history."

"Go for it," Landry said. "It's a long shot, but right now it's all we've got."

"Meanwhile," Vala said grimly, wondering how deeply a sudden, brilliant idea of hers would get her in hot water, "I'll go see how our Ori friends are doing as soon as Dr. Lam clears me for duty."

* * *

Five days after waking up in thirteenth-century Wales, and much to Sam's delight, Elinor let her, for the first time, go down to the main hall of Tŵr Llywelyn for the day's meal.

In medieval Wales, Sam learned, mealtime was once a day, at noon; she was head and shoulders taller than all of the women (and a good portion of the men) there; her hair was definitely out of place; and she could barely speak enough Welsh to say it was windy, much less to ask where the bathroom was.

For the occasion, Elinor lent her a dark green dress and a matching gold-trimmed wimple. Sam had promptly tripped on the hem the minute she'd first changed into the outfit. She was suddenly very glad the Air Force regulation skirts were nowhere near as long. She saw Daniel struggle to contain a grin, and glared at him. "Any tips for walking in this thing?" Sam demanded.

But he just smirked at her. "Maybe a bit of practice would help?" Daniel suggested (as innocently as he could. Sam was sure of it).

"Want me to bring you anything?"

Daniel shook his head. "Nah. You go on down," he replied. "Remember—keep an ear out for political talk. It will help."

So now Sam was sitting next to Elinor at the main table in the hall. A man was saying something in Welsh to the silent hall. Elinor leaned toward Sam. "He's asking Llywelyn who you are," she said. "Llywelyn says you're a victim of a skirmish between Marcher villagers and Edward's men, and your husband is still recovering."

Sam choked on something Elinor had called mead. "Daniel is _not_ my husband!" she burst out, mopping the front of her gown. "Who is that man?" she asked, desperately changing the subject.

"Llywelyn's brother, Dafydd. He's been pushing for this rebellion against Edward for some time now." Sam caught a hint of bitterness in Elinor's voice.

Sam watched the two princes, remembering what Daniel had told her about Elinor. In 1264, Elinor's father, Simon, had won the Battle of Lewes, and the Treaty of Pipton was the result of victory. In fact, Llywelyn's marriage to Elinor to begin with was a result of that treaty, in a sense. However, Llywelyn hadn't married Elinor until 1275, via a proxy marriage.

"There's plenty of evidence to suggest that Dafydd had a role in what happened next," Daniel had said only the night before. "Although history suggests another individual was the person who convinced Edward to do it." Sam had pressed him to tell her the history of the people they were staying with, if only so she didn't make any major blunders. Only, she realized, Welsh politics in the thirteenth century were hardly easy to memorize, considering that not only the Magna Carta but King Arthur himself were both reasons for the present situation, not to mention the situation in her and Daniel's own time!

"Because Dafydd was an ally of Edward?" Sam asked, trying to keep the lineages and the political lines straight without paper and pen.

"Exactly," Daniel replied. "When Elinor set off to join Llywelyn, Edward kidnapped her and her brother Amaury. Elinor was basically a bargaining chip the whole time Edward had her—he used her to help get Llywelyn to do Edward's bidding."

"How long was she a prisoner?"

"She was held in Windsor Castle for three years, and there are some scholars who suggest Dafydd orchestrated the whole thing. Right place, right time, right connections."

In the main hall, Dafydd had now turned and pointed right at Sam. She recalled the bitterness in Elinor's voice, and no longer wondered.

* * *

"And this one," Dafydd said. "You have yourself a new concubine. How quaint." He leered at the woman in green, Samantha, and picked up his mead. He'd already had more than what he could hold. "_Fel y bo'r dyn y bydd ei lwdn_." Like father, like son.

Llywelyn ap Gruffydd eyed his brother. Dafydd had been quick, too quick, to rename himself Llywelyn's ally after the last time Llywelyn's army had defeated Edward's. "Dafydd," he warned, "_ni all ne wasanaethu daur arglwydd._" Nobody can serve two masters.

Dafydd laughed over the top of his chalice. "Do not think even for an instant you are safe from Edward, Llywelyn, not when you hide behind the skirts of your wife."

"_Cyfaill cywir mewn ing y'i gwelir_," Llywelyn replied, arching a brow. A true friend will be shown in adversity. Dafydd had already shown his allegiances. "Choose your battles, brother. Will you align with Edward, or with me?"

Dafydd drew long from the chalice. He was well aware he was hardly welcome in Llywelyn's court. "I'll ally with you," he said finally. Perhaps Llywelyn had underestimated his ability to hold his drink. "On one condition. When your babe is born, I shall be her custodian if you are not able."

Llywelyn had definitely underestimated his brother. The years Dafydd had spent serving Edward Longshanks had let the House of Gwynedd become further divided. "_Iawn_," Llywelyn agreed reluctantly, wondering if this uneasy alliance with Dafydd would prove to be his downfall.


	4. Chapter 4: The Ties That Bind

Chapter 4

The Ties That Bind

"_Edward reacted to the revolt with the same strategy as he had employed in 1277. The insurgents had a considerable degree of success: they captured a number of castles—Rhuthun, Aberystwyth and Builth among them; the men of Gilbert de Clare, the leader of the royal forces in the south, were defeated near Dinefwr on 16 June; Welsh control of the uplands between the Wye and Severn was stubbornly defended; the king's hope of a rapid crossing of the Perfeddwlad was frustrated._"

-John Davies, _A History of Wales_, 158-159.

* * *

Vala Mal Doran straightened the neckline of her blue dress, trying to hide the stitches in her shoulder. She viewed herself in the mirror critically. The dress was a beautiful thing, silky and edged with knotted gold trim she was sure some poor woman had spent months on to make so much of it. Dr. Lam had cleared her for duty only that morning, and Vala had managed to convince Landry to let her go alone. She took a deep breath as she heard the door to her chambers open, hoping Tomin would be able to carry out what she had asked.

"Mother," the snide voice said in greeting.

So Tomin had been able to find her daughter. Vala squared her shoulders before she turned and took in Adria. "I see you've…erm, grown," Vala said, wondering how to phrase her request. "On Earth, or any other planet, you'd still be a babe." Why, oh _why_ did butterflies always have to churn her belly every time she saw her own daughter?

Adria nearly rolled her eyes. "Don't mince words with me, please, Mother. I've just come from a council. You require my help; else you wouldn't have bid Tomin to seek me out." It wasn't even accusing. Vala arched an eyebrow. So perhaps her daughter _could_ be human.

"Yes," Vala said, swallowing hard. "Adria, I need your help. Earth needs your help."

"Why do you come to me?" Adria asked thoughtfully. "We are mortal enemies. This would be considered treason by all on your world, if they knew."

"They are already convinced I have committed treason," Vala agreed. "Those who are not aware of the full situation, anyway. But they know I am here. Adria, please. People are missing, and we think a Prior was responsible for it."

"And I'm the only one who can help you," Adria said. "Naturally." She didn't even try to keep the sneer out of her voice that time.

* * *

Vala and Adria stepped through the Stargate together. "It's all right!" she shouted to the Marines. "She's here to help."

"Stand down!" Landry said into the microphone. "This is General Landry. Hold your fire and stand down!"

He came into the 'gate room a few moments later. "I hope you know what you're doing," he warned Vala.

"So do I," she whispered.

* * *

Sam rejoined Daniel after the midday meal on the seventh day. "It's June fifth," she said quietly. "A courier came today with news of the revolt."

"And?" Daniel asked eagerly. His side had healed enough that he could sit up without much trouble, but he still couldn't move around easily without pain.

"Llywelyn's brother Owain is in command of an area called the Perfeddwlad. He sent the courier to say that Edward was due at one of the castles on the Perfeddwlad's western border in mid-June, and that he's at the northern border between Wales and England now."

Daniel chewed his lip, thinking. Sam wondered how much he really knew; if they were still in their own time he'd be all but living in his lab, trying to find references to what was happening. But here they didn't have the omniscient powers the history books gave them. Oh, Daniel might show off a bit, but she didn't know what would happen, and if anything happened to her or Daniel….

Sam visciously shoved that thought out. They _would_ get home, and they _would _survive.

"We have to assume that Llywelyn's not going to join with Dafydd until Edward comes knocking. That has to happen after Elinor dies. God, Sam," Daniel said, rubbing his face with both hands, "what happens if Elinor doesn't die the way the books say she will? What happens to us then?"

Sam sighed. "You were right the first night we were here," she admitted reluctantly. "We might have to do it."

* * *

_**Aberystwyth, Wales, June 2012**_

Bronwen Jones sighed and looked at the clock. 3:30. Two more hours and she could have her bed. Whatever her head cold was, it had hit her like a ton of bricks that morning and she wanted nothing more to sleep until Boxing Day. Unfortunately, the main supervisor of the archives was off with some American archaeologist trying to find Arthur's lost Camelot. Again. The idiots kept coming even though Britain didn't have anything of the sort and Arthur was really somebody called Riothamus.

Bronwen grabbed a tissue and caught the sneeze in time. For once, she didn't care about appropriate archival conditions. She just wanted her bed, and for 21st century medicine to actually come up with a cure for the common cold.

She walked out of the archival room and to the main office, where her thermos of tea cloyingly thick with honey sat. Taking a long drink and hoping that would soothe her poor throat, she logged onto the computer and checked the archive's main email.

One in particular caught her eye. She scrolled down through the requisite introductory material (an archaeologist in Builth Wells), and stopped short.

_We uncovered a number of odd materials at this particular site. They were found at the level we've found swords from the location near Carnedd Llywelyn in which Dafydd ap Gruffydd was taken hostage in 1283 following the death of his brother, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd. We've carbon dated them and they came up with the right time frame, but the inscription isn't right for that period, and the metal is a modern alloy. Can your people make heads or tails of them?_

Bronwen squinted at the photographs. It looked like the artifact was a bit of metal. Nothing unusual for the thirteenth century. What _was_ unusual, though, was the inscription on it, _in English_.

* * *

Walter Harriman met General Landry in the briefing room. Bill Lee looked up, with that deer in the headlights look he and Daniel Jackson used so much, annoyed at being interrupted in the middle of his presentation on the various wavelengths he'd identified from the latest study of the Stargate in the attempt to locate Carter, Mitchell, and Jackson.

"Sir," Harriman said, "we have a communiqué from a museum in Wales."

Heads jerked up. "Did you hear back from SG-2 and their research over there into Camelot?" Landry asked. "Please tell me it's good news and they found Merlin's weapon."

"You're all going to want to see this," Harriman said. "May I use the projector?"

With a nod from Dr. Lee, he quickly brought up an image. "We received an email ten minutes ago from a museum archive in…um…..Aber…..uh, sorry, I can't speak Welsh—Aberystwyth, in Wales. An archaeologist sent them this image, and he said that the piece of metal in it was carbon dated to 1282, give or take a few years. He also said it was a metal alloy that wasn't in use at the time."

"Is that what I think it is?" Dr. Lee said, peering at the image.

"Yes," Harriman replied, enlarging the image so they could all see the inscription on the decayed bit of metal.

_Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter, USAF_.

They'd just located Sam's dog tags.


End file.
